


Too Close

by celeste9



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Banter, F/M, First Kiss, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 12:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celeste9/pseuds/celeste9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't the first time they'd shared a bed, not by far, but it was the first time he didn't have anywhere to hide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Close

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Trope Bingo, 'sharing a bed'.

“We’ve had worse,” Clint said, eyeing the tiny bed - no, the cot, it wasn’t even fair to call the thing a bed - that still managed to take up half the room. It was lucky he wasn’t claustrophobic.

“When?” Natasha asked.

“At least it’s a bed?”

A subtle twitch of Natasha’s eyebrow was enough to convey to Clint how she felt about _that._ She placed her guns on the bedside table, which wobbled slightly in a threat to collapse. She slid her knife under the pillow.

“Maybe it’ll look better with the light off?” Clint suggested.

Natasha grabbed his hand when he moved to switch it off. “Don’t you dare; I at least want to be able to see the bugs that inevitably crawl out.”

Clint acknowledged the point. Still, though, he thought he could’ve done without seeing the stains on the sheets. “I think I might sleep on the floor.”

“Stop being such a baby.” Natasha sat in the center of the cot. It creaked ominously.

“Are you going to give me a sob story about how hard it was growing up and how it’s so wonderful to even have a bed? Because you know I’ve got plenty of my own. You know, if you’re interested.”

“I’m not.”

Clint chuckled and moved to the postage stamp of a window, pushing aside the faded curtain to look outside. The street below was dimly lit but he could see a group of kids loitering on the corner and a stray cat slinking in the shadows. “I’m complaining about this one to Coulson. I think just being here is hazardous to my health.”

“You’re all talk, Barton, and no follow-through.”

“No follow-through? Geez, Tasha, that hurts.”

“You know I call it like I see it. So, where are you going to sleep?”

The bedside table protested the addition of Clint’s bow and arrows but valiantly didn’t collapse. “I was kidding about the floor thing. I don’t think it’s any cleaner but it’s definitely more uncomfortable. So, scooch.”

Natasha didn’t move. “I think you might break it.”

“Are you saying I’m fat?” Clint exclaimed. “I think you’re just jealous you’re not getting any of this,” he said, patting his own ass.

“I could have it if I wanted it.”

“And now you’re saying I’m easy. The cruelty never ends,” Clint said to cover the fact that that had maybe stung a little, for real.

Yeah, he was possibly a little bit in love with Natasha. It was embarrassing. He didn’t dwell on it. Clearly nothing was ever going to happen, so there was no point. Natasha was the best field partner he could ever hope to have and he liked to think they were friends, too, so it was probably better not to go and mess that up with sex and feelings and whatever.

Right.

“If you don’t move over I’m just gonna shove you, which I’m sure will necessitate some form of violent response on your part, and this bed definitely won’t survive that. So you’d better just move,” Clint said, which he felt was quite a convincing argument.

Natasha narrowed her eyes at him but she succumbed to Clint’s powers of persuasion and made some space on the cot, lying on her side with her back facing him.

Clint got on next to her. He could actually feel the cot struggling, the rickety legs fighting to hold them. The mattress sucked, too, the springs all too evident beneath his back. He shifted and there was really no way to do this except to lie on his side and tug Natasha in next to him.

It wasn’t the first time they’d shared a bed, not by far, but it was the first time he didn’t have anywhere to hide. Forced spooning wasn’t that great when you were kinda, sorta pining after your frightening, gorgeous Russian assassin partner, you know?

“Clint.”

“What?”

“Stop hyperventilating into my neck.”

“I’m not hyperventilating.”

“Your breathing is considerably quicker than normal, as is your heart rate. You’re also sweating, so feel free to stop squeezing me.”

Clint carefully eased his grip and shifted again, as well as he could. Natasha rolled over until she was facing him, still pressed uncomfortably close.

Well, in another context it would have been extremely comfortable, but Clint’s life wasn’t that good.

“You’re being weird,” Natasha informed him.

“According to you, I’m always weird.”

“Especially weird.”

“I think maybe I will sleep on the floor.”

“Why?”

Small spaces didn’t bother Clint. They didn’t. Neither did encroachment of personal space. So why was every muscle screaming at him to run away and find some of his own damned air to breathe? “It’s too crowded here. One of us is gonna roll off, or else the thing really will break.”

“Are you sure it’s not because sleeping next to me bothers you?” Natasha asked, seemingly innocently, except Natasha was never, ever innocent and she always knew exactly what she was doing.

Clint laughed nervously. “Why would that bother me? We’ve done it before.”

“Not this... snugly.” As if to prove her point, Natasha wriggled a little, which was really, really unfair, and also probably a form of torture.

“It’s not--” Clint started and then Natasha wriggled again. Definitely torture. Clint bit his lip. Cruel and unusual. SHIELD hadn’t prepared him for this.

“I thought so,” Natasha said, her lips curving upwards smugly.

Shifting awkwardly, Clint said, “Okay, hey, that’s not fair because I have certain biological... things, you know, and probably a gay man would react with you rubbing up against sensitive anatomical areas.”

“Big words,” Natasha said in that way of her hers that meant she was laughing inside.

“Shut up.”

“So what you’re trying to say is you don’t find me attractive.”

“There’s no right answer to that, is there?”

“It’s me, Clint. The right answer is the one you mean.”

He was fucked. That was it, right? He was so fucked. “I think you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Well, of course I am,” Natasha agreed, like it was simply a fact, an inescapable truth. “But do you think that in the way that makes you want to rip all my clothes off?”

“Why are we analyzing me? What about you? Do you want to rip my clothes off? Because you know, I’m a pretty attractive guy.”

Natasha raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “You don’t honestly think you can distract me, do you?”

“I can be pretty distracting.”

“Stop deflecting.”

“Fine, Tasha, damn it. I want to fuck you, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I think you’re beautiful and amazing and we should totally have athletic, sweaty, fucking awesome sex.” Fucking Christ. Clint hated himself sometimes. He could never keep his mouth shut when he really should.

“Our sex would be fucking awesome,” Natasha said thoughtfully and all Clint could do was laugh. Because, yeah, it would be. “I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” Natasha went on.

Clint stopped laughing. “You wouldn’t be opposed to it?” It wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement.

Natasha’s eyes seemed to shine in the dimness of the room. “Would you prefer me to phrase it another way?”

Too late to back down now, so Clint figured he might as well stick with the honesty thing. “I’d prefer you to not jerk me around, Tasha.”

“I want to have sex with you, Clint,” Natasha said, enunciating each syllable carefully. “Is that clear enough?”

“You want to have sex with me how?”

“Would you like me to draw you a diagram?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Clint said, but he smiled a little anyway because Natasha was amused and he loved it when she was like this, more open and easy, slyly humorous. “Like a one-time thing? A friends thing? Or... or something else?” Because honestly, Clint wasn’t sure what he wanted. He was actually kind of sure that this would be a disaster.

He wanted to do it anyway. He didn’t know what that said about him, except that probably Coulson was right all those times he claimed Clint had been knocked in the head a few too many times.

“Why don’t we try it and see where it takes us.”

Clint just looked and looked at Natasha, studied her face, the way she was so serious and intent and meant what she was saying. “You don’t want to have a plan?”

“Plans are overrated. It’s adaptability that counts.”

“I can be very adaptable,” Clint said and then he kissed her. Natasha curled her hand into his shirt and opened up easily for him, her lips soft and God, Clint kind of wished they could do this forever. He nudged his knee between her thighs and rolled slightly on top of her and then the bed creaked alarmingly.

Clint broke the kiss. Natasha’s mouth looked plump and wet and inviting and he really wanted to kiss her again and again and again. Instead he said, “I hate to say this, but anything more athletic than sleeping is going to be a very bad idea.”

“I’m impressed. You can be sensible.”

“I might have broken something.”

Natasha lifted her hand to brush through Clint’s hair, a small smile forming on her lips. “Hopefully nothing important.”

“Nope, just my head,” Clint said and leaned on his elbow, ignoring the spring he could feel beneath it.

“That’s a relief.” Natasha’s hand had fallen down to Clint’s chest, her fingers moving in slow, aimless circles. “I suppose you’ll have to wait a bit longer.”

“That’s all right, I can be patient. It’s you I’m worried about, being so close and yet so far from all of this.” Clint gestured down the length of his body.

“Just wait until we’re in an actual bed and you get to see my moves.”

Clint waggled his eyebrows. “Oh, baby, I’ll show you moves.”

“Call me baby again and you won’t like the results.”

That was probably true. Natasha had plenty of the other sort of moves that Clint was very familiar with. He’d rather not be on the receiving end of them outside of practice sparring, which left him sore enough.

“No baby, huh? What about sugar? Dollface? Cutiepie?” Clint tried. “Ow!” He rubbed at his chest, where Natasha had pinched him. “This is a rather ominous start to our new relationship, I think. Or, hey, does violence turn you on? I bet it does.” Clint pictured Natasha in one of those leather dominatrix outfits, complete with a whip, and went a bit cross-eyed.

Natasha pinched him again, harder, and then tucked her face in against him. “Guess you’ll find out, won’t you?”

Yeah, he would, because apparently they were doing this, terrible idea or not. Most of Clint’s ideas were terrible, let’s face it, but that had never stopped him trying them out.

Clint rested his chin against the top of Natasha’s head and closed his eyes. He had a feeling his dreams tonight were going to be _awesome._

**_End_ **


End file.
